Father figure
by Prince-Crow
Summary: While it was happening, Nathan thought the world of Mark. He thought everything was great. That their relationship was beautiful. In retrospect, though, he knew it was wrong. [Warnings for Manipulation and Child abuse]


While it was happening, Nathan thought the world of Mark. He thought everything was great. That their relationship was beautiful.

In retrospect, though, he knew it was wrong. He couldn't understand how he'd missed it. How he'd ever though that was okay. Sometimes, it kept him up for hours, face in his hands, eyes at the floor, trying to sift through the endless thoughts whipping through his mind. Everything always came back to Mark Jefferson.

* * *

When Nathan had first met the man, it was at a Prescott Foundation function. Nathan hadn't been allowed to speak with him, really. His father had made sure of that. The most they could do was shake hands and be introduced, before Sean nudged Nathan off and fixed him with a look that screamed "behave". Nathan was bitter about it, but interested in the man his father was speaking to.

Mark Jefferson. He knew the name, of course. Knew about his history and his work. How could he not, with Victoria always blabbering about him being among the greats and shoving her collection of Jefferson's work in his face. Nathan didn't see what the big deal was. The man was nearly in his fifties and hadn't produced anything worthwhile in years. Nathan had always considered him a one hit wonder; His time of fame came and went and now he was riding on his old reputation and hoping he would still be remembered.

Nathan had always thought that, but now he wasn't so sure. He had sat across the way, rolling up the sleeves of his uncomfortable dress shirt and sipping at a glass of wine that he probably shouldn't have been drinking. Nathan was sure he looked like the typical rich boy stereotype, minus the flawless good looks. He sighed, but couldn't seem to keep his eyes away from Jefferson the whole time.

Rather than washed up. the man exuded confidence. He looked young, barely in his thirties even, and he had a way about him that was...smooth. There was something mysterious about the man. Jefferson laughed at some joke his father made and it was a playful sound. Then, Jefferson turned and locked eyes with Nathan from across the room.

Nathan nearly spilled his drink and flushed at having been caught staring, quickly averting his eyes and letting his face sink into a harsh scowl.

After a moment had passed, he glanced back at Jefferson through his peripherals. Jefferson smiled at him. It was the kind of smile that held mischief and amusement and Nathan decided not to stare anymore, eyes affixed to the wall and fingers twitching violently in aggravation. Fuck that man and his twinkling expression and good looks. As if Nathan cared. As if he wanted to talk to some has been.

But he did and, suddenly, he understood exactly why Victoria was so obsessed with the man. His stomach clenched and he stood up, aggravated, and knocked kicked his chair over on an impulse.

Nathan remembered the scolding he'd gotten for that and when Sean had struck him across the face. He had been humiliated and he caused a scene, lashing out before he was forced to leave the hall. He had felt Jefferson's eyes on him the whole time and, when Nathan looked back, he saw something unnamed flash through Jefferson's gaze. Nathan felt like he'd been skewered through the chest and was bleeding out all over the expensive carpet of the Prescott manor. He even glanced, just to make sure it was all in his mind and he wasn't actually dying.

Everything sucked.

The events after that were hazy. Nathan had his meds fixed and the adjustment period left him hazy and lethargic and like a fucking zombie just in time for school to start up. He knew that Jefferson was going to be teaching, of course. Everyone knew. The competition to get accepted into Blackwell had increased exponentially and Victoria, who had been thinking of finishing up he education out of state, had immediately changed her mind. But of course she would; she was basically in love with Mark Jefferson.

Nathan had been grumpy and irritable. He wanted to lash out, but he didn't have the energy for that either and that just mad him feel endlessly frustrated. He skipped the first day instead, hiding out in the bathroom, last stall, feet planted on the toilet seat and butt on the tank. He smoked about a whole pack of cigarettes that day and set off the fire alarm. But what were they going to do to him? He was Nathan Prescott. His father would berate him harshly, but always pay the principal off. Nothing mattered. None of it was real anyway.

The embarrassment the next day was real, though, when he walked into Jefferson's class late, bag slung over his shoulder, and Jefferson fixed him with that piercing gaze that made Nathan feel like he'd been stabbed. Jefferson sighed, heavy, in front of the entire class, and looked disappointed in him. It reeked of his father, the expression, and made Nathan twitch and squirm on the inside while his guts froze to ice.

"It was nice of you to show up today, . Please do try not to cause a scene and set off another fire alarm. We have more important things to be doing with our time."

The words were shorts, simple, and oh so condescending. Normally, Nathan would flip out. How dare he. Didn't he know who he was talking to? His father _owned_ Blackwell _and_ Jefferson. He could do whatever the fuck he felt like.

But something about Jefferson's tone and the way he looked at him made him feel weak. So he just hunched his shoulders and sucked his teeth, lightly kicking the side of a table and muttered a "what the fuck ever" before taking an empty seat. Then, he spoke up louder, dropping his bag on the floor.

"My dad's Mr. Prescott. Not me."

Jefferson had given him a disapproving stare that made Nathan want to scream.

"If we can continue my lecture that Mr. Prescott interrupted..."

Even now, Nathan could feel the shame at being snubbed like that. It had been brutal. Humiliating. It reminded him of his father and the was he dismissed Nathan all the time. It had made him angry, but mostly it made him feel scared and desperate.

Nathan wondered if that was why he had been so easily fooled. Wondered if he had just been stronger, if anything would have gone the way it went. It tormented him. Made him sick and had him crying in the night as he remembered the faces of everyone he had hurt. As he remembered, in stilted, warped thoughts, Mark Jefferson.

Nathan remembered being scolded and humiliated, but he remembered the praise too, when Nathan did something right. No one praised him like Mark Jefferson did. It had lit him up inside, like his heart was a star, violently exploding into a sun and warming every part of him in a way he hadn't felt before. At least, not since he'd been small and his father had still loved him. Before he was found to be broken.

Nathan scrubs at his eyes furiously and tries not to think of his father or about being abandoned. Sean Prescott hadn't visited him once since he'd been institutionalized. Not that he'd expected the man to, but it still clawed out his insides and made him feel like bleeding out all over the floor.

Jefferson was supposed to have filled that in. He was the suture, sewing that hole closed and making him feel special and loved.

It had all been a lie, though. Nathan knew it. He'd been used. Used for his money. Used to acquire drugs. Used to hurt people. He knew it in his mind, but his heart wouldn't accept it, making him long for the man. Wanting to please him. Sometimes Nathan cried into his pillow again and again.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'll do better. I'll be good enough. Please don't leave me alone."

It was pathetic. He knew it. But knowing something logically and feeling something emotionally were two different things. Case and point: Nathan knew that Mark Jefferson had ruined his life. But Nathan's emotions told him it was his fault. If Nathan had been strong, wiser, more mature. If he wasn't fucked in the brain and if he just stopped being so fucking desperate and needy then things would have been fine. Then, there was the opposite side, that was still attached to Mark (Mark in his heart, never Jefferson). It told him he had failed the man he loved. It told him that he betrayed Jefferson. That he'd done wrong. That he should have done anything Jefferson wanted. That Jefferson probably hated him now and was so, so disappointed.

Nathan didn't know how to cope with it. How to process those feelings. How could he feel so guilty about Mark's arrest when Mark had been using him the whole time and had even tried to pin the blame on Nathan. Why was he so fucked up? What was wrong with him that he still wanted Mark Jefferson to hold him and tell him he had a great destiny and that Nathan was so good and that Mark was proud of him.

Nathan sobbed.

He recalled, in fits of hysteria, talking to his therapist about Mark. It was always intense and raw, like his organs were rebelling and he needed to vomit all of them up to get relief.

Out of all the things that haunted Nathan about Mark Jefferson, it was their romance. Mark Jefferson was supposed to be his father figure. Nathan had looked up to him and admired him and wanted so much. Too much, probably. It made Nathan sick to think about. He says it in crude words to the therapist one day, just to shock her.

"I let Jefferson fuck me."

But it never shocked her like he'd hoped. She just looked sad and that made him feel worse. He tried again and again.

"I wanted my father to love me so badly I let another adult man fuck me and called him daddy. I let him control me. I did horrible things for him. I'm fucking crazy. Isn't it hilarious? How fucked up is that?"

And he laughed, up and up, like he needed to scream and cry but he just laughed at himself instead. He spent what felt like ages laughing, his mind screaming and turning into fog while he floated away from his body so he didn't have to _deal_ with it all. But it all comes crashing back down again eventually, and he's a mess of shattered sobbing. Wet and dripping and bloody and raw. It's ugly. He's so fucking ugly. He feels his hair coming out of place as he grips at it and the tears and sweat and shaking and the snot dripping over his upper lip. The sting of pain from his teeth grinding into his lower lip so he doesn't scream, even though the flesh splits and bleeds. He holds himself, because no one else will, and he fractures again and again into tiny infinitesimal pieces. Because he's always been tiny. He's always felt so fucking small.

When the episode subsides, he's spent and achingly empty. He sits, bowed, hands loose at his sides and gaze empty and pinned on the floor. His voice cracks, raw, and he can taste copper in his own words.

"They say I was an adult when he came into my life. It's not pedophilia then."

Then, even more quietly.

"He told me that too. He said it was alright. That I was of age and so bright and mature that I hardly seemed like a high school student at all. He said it was okay and I was 19 so I could make my own decisions."

His hands clench into fists so hard that every joint cracks and his knuckles go white and shake. He sounds so small when he speaks, even to himself.

"But I didn't make my own decision, did I? He made it for me. He never treated me like an adult or thought of me in that way, did he? He just...used me."

His therapist looks like she doesn't know what to say for a moment, but then she's soft and sweet. Gentle and clinical at the same time. She doesn't care about him. This is her job.

He finds himself feeling lost and alone. He misses Mark Jefferson. He misses the praise and the affection, even if it was all a lie. He misses feeling loved. He feels like a small child, desperately craving someone to care for him. But he knows Mark isn't going to give this to him and never meant it in the first place, so he tries to think of others.

He wants his sister. He wants Victoria. His jaw clenches and his eyes shut tight, shoulders shaking.

Mostly he just wants his dad.


End file.
